A blog post written by my friend, William Fisher, inspired this drawing. I encourage you to read it. William has a lot to say, and he always pumps up my head with images. You know the concept of “least or lowest common denominator?” William addresses our technical and cultural resistance to exploring and discovering the potential inclusiveness, simplicity, and universal meanings that lie therein. Where? At the symposium; but, is there a common gathering place, a common language? It’s as if we’re naturally or habitually inclined, ok, some of us more than others, to individuate, to pursue the greatest or highest uncommon denominator. Look, check out his blog. I’ll let you draw your own insights, but just don’t jump to any conclusions.

Macro- and micro-pilgrimages intrigue me. When you physically go from point A to point B, and in some cases from point C to point D and on and on, you’re not just sitting there daydreaming; you’re journeying, you’re walking, you’re crawling, you’re moving along a path, a way, which for some symbolizesThe Path or The Way.

Are there practical applications? There may well be. Here’s one I’ve considered for years. Clearly, the ecclesiological and mathematical wrinkles would need to be ironed out, but that’s why God made focus groups.

In closing, let’s us reflect upon the words of Dean Martin: “If you drink, don’t drive. Don’t even putt.”

Several confreres had to excuse themselves before the end of Vespers just after they began chanting Psalm 42. Fr. Adelbert was to blame. He was hebdomadary that week and that evening he reflected at great length on fountains and how the endless flow of water dramatizes glorious and mysterious cycles through which we ourselves circulate and which circulate through us for ever and ever. Lambert, Egbert, Angilbert, and Frodobert were already squirming in their stalls at this point. Even before Olbert finished intoning the antiphon for Psalm 42, they were out-a-there!

I’m still recovering from my first trip to Costco. I needed a couple of Ibuprofen after carrying the crate of Ibuprofen to my truck, which, by the way, I needed to get my entire shipment home. However, that’s not what I’m recovering from. I just can’t get over the sensational impact of the size-itudinality and quanti-bogacity of that experience.

What if I had bumped into Pope Francis there shopping for the poor, pushing his own cart and not being hauled around in the decommissioned pope mobile? Damn right, I’d have given him a piece of my mind. “Che, pibe!” I’d have yelled at the Pontifical Porteño. “Go back and get that pope mobile, and load that sucker up!” But, who am I to judge?

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